A Different Quarter Quell
by buzzingbees
Summary: Prim was not reaped during the 74th Hunger Games: that means that there was no victor from 12 (Cato was victor) but it also means there is no female victor and prim wasn't so lucky second time round. Katniss/Finnick


75th Hunger Games

Prim was not reaped during the 74th Hunger Games: that means that there was no victor from 12 (Cato was victor) but it also means there is no female victor and prim wasn't so lucky this time round. Katniss/Finnick

Finnick POV

Distirct 12's reaping finally flickered onto the screen and I noticed that Haymitch had lost that drunken haggard look he had spent so many years perfecting. I smirked at the thought. It's amazing what even a little hope can do.

The quiet murmur of rebellion has been always flickered among the victors like the soft glow of a candle seconds before its snuffed. Or at least among the ones who aren't from District 1 or 2, the ones who realise we are not the Capitol's heroes and loved celebrities but their plaything. Yeah, there's always been that faint longing, hoping, wishing for something better, anything better.

A few years back it turned into an almost audible whisper, not loud enough for anyone who wasn't in the know to hear it but it was definitely there. District 13 had survived, the whispers breathed. District 13 had survived and they wanted to fight back.

And so we waited for something to give voice to these whispers, some event we could rally around, something we could bind our hope too. It came on the day that President Snow announced the special reaping to take place for the Quarter Quells.

He was sharp enough to pick up that murmurs had almost made it to whispers. He thought to show us that even the strongest of the strong could not overcome the Capitol. His first mistake. We may be going back into the games but as many of us as possible are coming out: not just one. We will come out with enough anger in our hearts to fuel the rebellion and overturn the capitol.

At least that's what we hope. That's what we pray. The getting out will be okay – not everyone will make it as there are still the careers from 1 and 2 to contend with and those who have given up on hoping in a bid to survive, just survive and never hunger for more for. But we were all killers, there is a high chance that most of us can get out. The hard bit will being winning against the Capitol.

For all our anger and all our hate, our determination, our burning desire to be free: there is a reason that the Capitol still holds so much power. It is not a foe to be underestimated. Still the small slither of hope that things could be different has changed us all. Has given us something to fight for and maybe that will be enough to convince others to do the same.

To see Haymitch's sleeves bulging with just a hint of muscle and a sharp keen look in his eye's instead the vacant gaze dulled by alcohol, is one of the many signs that say things are starting to change and my smirk becomes a tentative smile.

It is in his stance, tall and defiant, as he stands alone in the section of the square cornered off for male tributes: he feels what I feel. Hope. A small warmth that burns beneath our skin. A chance to be free from watching kid after kid die year after year. A way to be liberated from the Capitol's machinations. The possibility of revenge.

It's the first reaping I have watched, since I won, where I have felt something more than despair or just an aching numbness. Each victor chosen, who knows the plan, feels like another step towards freedom. A small tiny step towards a mountain that may still conquer us; but we all know that the view at the top is worth trying to reach it.

The Capitol escort for the district, looking as ridiculous as usual (not the strangest I've seen to be sure, but still not natural), announces 'ladies first' while making her way over to a bowl full of names. It is not full of names because District 12 has many female victors but because there are none.

The screen focus on the mirage of girls from district 12 aged 12-18 awaiting their fate. The looks of fear and innocence mixed on their faces, causes anger to surge through my veins. We can't save them, I think sadly. They don't know the plan and it is not a secret we can risk telling.

I wonder idly if this makes us as bad as them. The Capitol has purposefully killed kids, in the most brutal fashion, for the better part of a century for their own purposes; we are turning a blind eye as we let one get killed in the same fashion, even though we have a plan that could save them.

I try to reason with my conscience that we not as bad. We are only sacrificing one who would be dead anyway, for a cause that will hopefully save many more from that very fate. No we are not as bad as them, never as bad as them. Then my resolve waivers as the young face of a child who could barely be past the reaping age fills the screen. How can we let her to die?

I don't have time to ponder for long. Before she even makes it to the stage another girl rushes up and pushes the younger one behind her, as if that alone can keep he safe from her awful fate. Then the words that slip from the older girl's mouth in a terrified proclamation achieve what her body alone could not.

"I volunteer as Tribute"

The words ring out, echoing in a silence that is only broken by the anguished screams of denial coming from the younger girl now clinging to her side. The peacemakers and another man are quick to separate the two and usher the older onto the stage.

Its in that moment as she stands on the stage, chin held high towards the camera and undiluted rage burning in her eyes, that I notice what a breathe taking creature she is. She is small and slight, although unlike most from the poorer areas of Disctiric 12 she does not look starved and only just clinging to life. Her dark hair has been pulled back in a braid and the air around pulsates with something untameable and dangerous that draws you in and demands respect. The demand for respect is answered by the district as a whole; as one they raise their left hand in some sort of odd solute and their eyes start to burn with a silent rage of their own.

I quickly realise, in that moment, this small slip of a creature has almost started a rebellion on her own. For all our planning and organising, all we really needed the fire and passion in this one girl. I hold back a snort as I think she won't be needing our help, it will be us that need her.


End file.
